


Serpensortia

by kalijean, SLWalker



Series: due South Wizard!Verse [30]
Category: due South
Genre: Gen, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2012-06-04
Updated: 2012-06-03
Packaged: 2017-11-06 18:57:50
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 3,228
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/422088
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kalijean/pseuds/kalijean, https://archiveofourown.org/users/SLWalker/pseuds/SLWalker
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>"I have been sent by Reinette Favager, sire of Guy Laurent, on his behalf," I say, falling back upon the formality of my kind.  Even if I don't really think wizards quite worth the effort, I respect my sire.  "He and Chase are currently underground in Canada, preparing to help refugees to cross the border."</i>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

"Welcome to Canada." The Mountie that greets me at the door of the Consulat du Canada would be cute, if I were into that sort of thing. He's wary of me, though; I like that. Smart wizard. But we have enough of those. "How may I be of assistance?" he asks, his expression schooled.

The answer to that question is about to become a whole lot more complicated than he no doubt assumes. I'm more amused that he hasn't moved to invite me in; protected by his little red serge and heavy wooden door. As if he could defend himself if I decided to barge through. It's at odds with his welcome. I glance past the door, questioning him. Manners, auror.

His expression does not waver. Not very friendly. I don't blame him for that.

I glance back and forth, ever-uncomfortable with the idea of wizard ears around. 

"I have a message."

His eyebrows go up. His wand-hand twitches. I fold my hands behind my back. He couldn't hurt me if he tried, but it's something.

"Guy Laurent has donned his nurse's garb."

There's a tiny reddening of the auror's cheeks at that, and I've only just had the chance to wonder if that means what it sounds like it means, before the color leaves the boy almost entirely. _That's_ the proper level of fear. Well done, wizard.

Another one appears as the blood is slowly draining out of the pup; this one has come along a bit more. Fine set of green eyes he's got, and they're squinted at me.

"...nurse's what?"

The incredulity covers up something more canny, I can practically smell it, but it makes me smile anyway.

Best keep the fangs retracted.

 

They finally invite me in. I can smell the magic in the air outside, but it has nothing upon what it smells like inside. Green-Eyes moves around comfortably, more casually than the Mountie. I am lead into an office, one in which they spend a great deal of time, apparently, if their scents are any indicator. There is a human female, as well, who leaves traces upon the air, but does not appear to be here.

Silence stretches past the point of awkwardness, then the Mountie clears his throat. "I'm Constable Turnbull," he says, uncomfortably.

"Yes, I know," I answer, and smile at him with just a hint of fang.

Green-Eyes raises his eyebrows, something of a mild threat behind what appears to be a casual look. "What can we do for you?"

"I have been sent by Reinette Favager, sire of Guy Laurent, on his behalf," I say, falling back upon the formality of my kind. Even if I don't really think wizards quite worth the effort, I respect my sire. "He and Chase are currently underground in Canada, preparing to help refugees to cross the border."

Turnbull's face does not lose its white pallor, but he stares at me and I don't think he means the myriad emotions in his eyes to be quite so visible. I feel it around him as well; a tension, a longing, a worry, a hopeful little thread. "They..."

I pull the map which I've painstakingly marked under my sire's instructions from my pocket and offer it across the desk. "On this, there are seven marked safe houses. From these, Guy is intending to apparate muggle-borns across the border to here, in the United States, in rotating intervals. My sire has tested the border defenses and has made certain that a vampire's apparation won't trigger the alarms. Guy and Chase believe that if they're able to convince muggle-born wizards and witches to go with them, they'll be able to safely bring them to the United States. They need a contact on this side of the border to arrange the transfer, and that contact is you."

Green-Eyes says nothing, but he is clearly intrigued by the possibility. Turnbull takes the map, carefully, then unfolds it. The safe houses are all within one hundred kilometers of the border, and they are spread along it; four in the west, three in the east. No easy feat to arrange, and not all of them are as safe as we wish given their proximity to wizarding settlements, but in the short term they will have to do.

"They need names," I continue, without waiting for them to ask. "They need to know who to look for, and where to find them. From there, they can plan how to rotate through their safe houses and how to arrange for the transfers with you. In terms of communication in this immediate moment, I can send a message through my sire, who can pass it on to Guy. After I leave, you'll have to find alternate methods to communicate with him."

"They are safe?" Turnbull asks, and I admit, I'm taken aback by it. I would expect something else, after all I've just said.

The smile I offer back is small and fleeting, but gentle this time. "For now. They have been declared wanted by the Ministry. Chase is known to them by name and face; Guy is only known, currently, by his existence. But for now, they're safe, yes."

Turnbull closes his eyes for a long moment, and Green-Eyes looks at him with an expression that could only be called concerned love, before looking back at me with something harder, more serious on his face. "So, we gotta find a way to get the names to 'em?"

"Yes." There's no other answer I could give.

"Okay," he says, and it's clear he's thinking it over. "You gonna be in the area awhile?"

"No." I have a life. And this is not my war. Should it become so, then I will be a soldier the likes of which few have seen, but it's not yet. Hopefully it never will be. It would not matter to me, if the wizards killed themselves off; nonmagical mortals and vampires alike would not feel the loss. There are few mortals more obnoxious, than those who seek to try to legislate that which is eternal, and few more obnoxious than those who wander with wands and believe it gives them dominion over all others.

However, my sire is kind and my kindred is apparently quite altruistic, so I am here now. It's more than I would give on my own.

Green-Eyes clearly doesn't like my answer, but aside narrowing his eyes at me, he doesn't say it. Turnbull remains white-faced, then he nods, swallowing once. "Can you tell them... can you pass on the message that we'll do what we can, and will be in contact?"

I nod.

"And... and please, to be safe," he adds, a faint tremble in his voice on the last two words.

I nod again. It is as good as done; the speed of thought, through the sire's bond to my sire, and from her to her youngest offspring.

I apparate out with a bow of my head, leaving the map and returning to my life, while they no doubt contemplate the next moves in theirs.


	2. Chapter 2

"Damn," I say, and I gotta admit, this wasn't what I was expecting to think about today. Not with the hooligans and delinquents acting up in the city on news of You-Know-Who causing big problems across the pond in England. Not with Benny acting the way he is. Not with Kowalski lurking around, who might go up like an inferno at any moment and not be able to control it.

Not with a lot of things. But I gotta admit, even with all that we got on our plates, my heart's already telling me we gotta do it. They're holding _trials_ in Britain. Saying some bull about how muggle-borns stole magic from so-called proper witches and wizards. God knows what they'd do to those people. There are references to _dementors_ , and how sick is _that_?

And they killed Mad-Eye Moody. One of the most famous aurors of all time, wiped out, that quick. God.

How long's it gonna be, before Canada gets just as bad? Or worse? Even Britain didn't manage to lock down their nation like the Canadians just did, you know?

Ren's still kinda breathing it off. I sit down on his desk, move the map out of the way, and reach out to stroke at his hair. It's better than thinking too hard about how bad things really are.

He looks at me for a split second like I interrupted him doing calculations, which isn't a look I've seen for a while, at least not directed at me. He shuts his eyes, though, and leans over into my hand with a shaky sigh. I get it. I give him some quiet and work my thumb in his hair. The weight of his head in my hand is comforting to me, too, you know?

But I know him by now. What he looks like when he _wants_ a hand out of the storm going on in his own head, and I still love how I can watch him throw a hand out to take it without him ever opening his eyes.

"This is dangerous," he says to me, and that's way too obvious a thing to say to take at face value. There's no doubts in it, either; we're doing this. It's like he doesn't even think there's the option of weaseling out. "He-- they--" He doesn't get it out, whatever it was going to be.

"Guy?" I guide him eventually. I try not to do that, when he's gone that place he goes when his thoughts go faster than words can keep up with, but sometimes it helps.

"Yes," he says, and I know I picked the right time, 'cause he looks relieved. "And no."

He takes my hand and holds it. I squeeze his.

"They. So, Chase?"

A pair of blue eyes open at me. And... whoa.

So. Chase, then. I've heard the name before, but it doesn't come up a lot. He nods at me, and I know it's time to shut up again and let him figure out the words.

"He is... was my field training officer." He says it like it's a sin and a sainthood all at once. Sounds weird, because in a lot of ways, the title sounds like what _I_ do for Ren. I guess I'm looking kind of surprised, 'cause all the people he worked with were muggles, he didn't talk about any squibs, and speaking of it, my Mountie's looking a lot like the day he told me about his big sister. "Ray..."

"Hey," I say, a little bit shushed. I scoot over, so I can put his head around my middle. I don't qualify what I said, but he knows it's an 'it's okay.'

"Corporal Chase acted as backup the night the Brass Brassiere ejected its owner from its chimney." Man, I love that story. If only to hear Ren say the name of that bar. But he's never said anybody but Guy and some random DMLE guy was there. "It was... upon his own initiative. Ray. Corporal Chase is a _muggle_."

Wait.

What?

"How is he still alive?" Man, my Ren woulda told me if a muggle got hurt that night. Would never have told that story like it was funny. You can walk into a bar fight the size he described and walk back out, but that's not so easy if you can't even _block_. And I guess it's just the way things are that it takes a couple of seconds for my brain to catch up to the real reason why that's an extremely _bizarre_ thing to tell me.

Chase still has his _nose_ in things.

"You never..."

"No."

That's a Hell of a thing to be carrying around for years. Hell of a thing to share with anybody else; I have a half a second where I want to feel put out that he never told me, but I get it. 'Cause now it's _my_ career if I get caught not doing anything about it.

Not that it matters anymore.

I look down, catch his eyes wide, and realize mine must be too. I blink it off and smooth out his hair. "It's okay, Ren."

"Ray..."

I had a hard time with obliviation the first time. I get it, if it's just not something you can do to a friend. I don't necessarily think it was the right call, but there's no taking it back now, and I'm not gonna ride my guy over the coals for it. I start to shush him, before I realize he's looking at me like there's _more_. My eyebrows go up.

"I think-- I have come to realize that perhaps--" His nostrils flare in that way that would be cute if it didn't seem like something was fighting its way out. "--since I have come to know you, since I have-- I believe there was a time--"

It locks up there. There's a little while where I stroke him, trying to coax out what comes next, but I catch up pretty quick. Then he doesn't have to. Only seen _that_ kind of wide eyes on him once before, and those were directed at me.

"Had a crush, huh?"

My Mountie nods, and then cuts it off midway. Thinking. Then he corrects himself.

"I was in love with him, I believe."

He says it like he maybe just figured that out. Like maybe he just realized that he had been. And, you know, that doesn't surprise me so much, given how he grew up and how screwed up his family was. Is. Thank God for his sister, even if she can be prickly.

No wonder he couldn't go through with the obliviation. Hard enough to do to a friend. But someone you hang the moon on? Ah, God, Ren. I lean forward and press a kiss to the top of his head, letting that hang in the air for a few minutes. I'm not jealous, I mean, I know where I stand, and what kinda jerk gets jealous of a first love anyway? But the situation my Ren's in now just got layers of heart in there, too, and that deserves a moment's quiet.

"I guess we better do whatever we can to help," I finally say, murmured into his hair, without picking my head up. "So, where are we gonna get a list of names?"


	3. Chapter 3

"How ya feelin' today, Benny?" I ask, putting on the half-distracted tone. Which isn't hard, 'cause God, I got enough on my mind. But I'm definitely playing it up, this time.

"Fine, Ray," he answers, bitten off and curt. Which I'd buy, if he didn't look like such a _wreck_. His old man looked more alive last time I saw him haunting around than Benny looks these days, and I know there's somethin' goin' on, but how can I even ask again? He cut me outta his life, and I didn't even really feel the blade until it was already through. And that was even before he started missing work and wandering around in some kinda daze. Like he cast _colloportus_ on the doors that we used to keep open.

He was supposed to meet me a couple days ago to go over another crime scene that looked suspicious, and he never even showed. Had to get Dewey to come and help me out there, even though he's been trying to deal with scared people and escalating criminals all over the greater Chicago area too. When I asked him about it, he said he was sorry, but something else came up. Kowalski's kinda inferred that he's seeing someone recently. Maybe Benny's saving up all the warmth for her, 'cause he sure isn't sharing any with us.

I wanna say I'm pissed off, but I'm too damn tired to be right now. All I know is, we got a whole lot of work to do on top of a whole lot of work, I don't like how things are looking in our own Department of Magical Law Enforcement right now with the head-in-the-sand routine, and Benny's left us high and dry.

It kinda breaks my heart. I haven't seen Dief in awhile. I hope he's okay. Heck, I hope Benny will be okay. If it wasn't for the fact I know how good he is, and how hard it would be to actually cast dark magic on him to make him act this way, I'd want to believe he's under imperius or something -- _“What business is it of yours?”_ \-- instead of just abandoning us.

"Yeah," I say, softly, and he looks at me for a moment almost like he should, before he drops his head back to his paperwork.

I keep going until I'm back in Ren's office with him. Close the door, ward the heck out of it against prying Mountie ears -- Benny and Thatcher both -- and then turn back to him. It's just us, for this. Him, and me, and no backup.

The thought of Ren going into his brother's office to get a location on the registry and create a portkey so I can retrieve it scares the shit out of me.

"I got it," I say, and I take the box out of my pocket. See, I like using rings as portkeys, because you can hide 'em in a box and carry 'em with you without accidentally activating 'em until you actually mean to. Some people use larger objects, stuff anyone can just grab, but me, I like to keep mine small and hidden. Oh, and it's illegal to create one unregistered.

I've created, oh, maybe a dozen? And none of 'em are registered. For my sister, for my family; to our home on Octavia, from there to _Italy_. Sometimes, protecting what you love has to come way before the law.

And given what the head office said to me, Ren and I are about to go do that all over again.

"No luck?" he asks, and the sick expression of fear in his eyes makes me so damn miserable. It's times like this I realize how young Ren still is, and how damn _brave_ he is, and how lucky I am to have him.

I shake my head, and I can't really say anything past the lump in my throat when Ren just nods. Like he knew it was coming. It takes me a few long moments to find my voice again. "They don't want involved. At all. Like maybe if they play neutral, You-Know-Who won't bother with the good ole U-S-of-A. It's bull, but..."

"But there will be no convincing them of that, until it's too late."

I nod. Just like across the pond, where it took 'em forever to listen to the Potter kid. Our governments are really good at ignoring things and trying to pretend they aren't real all the way up until someone shoves a wand where the sun doesn't shine. I bet most of Canada thought they were safe, too, until they weren't.

"Tomorrow, then," Ren says, a little quiver in his voice that disappears from the first word, to the last.

"Yeah," I say, and then I step around his desk and wrap my arms around him like I'll never have to let go. "Tomorrow. Lemme hold you tonight."


End file.
